In summer, night falls slowly. The last rays of sunlight cling to any clouds floating through the sky, turning them into glowing treasures. Those same spears of light also highlighted soft, silky flesh that never saw the light of day as they crept through one window with the curtains thrown wide open.

He might have suspected she did it on purpose to taunt him, except he knew that she had no way of knowing anyone could see her through her third-story window--and certainly not from the gazebo on top of the small hill behind the mansion, one that rarely saw visitors even on hot, humid summer nights. So for the last few months, he was treated to the best show of his life every night as the sun sank below the horizon and the last rays lit up the sky. This particular night, he smiled a little as he settled back on the wooden bench and his hand moved up his thigh toward his zipper.

So far, only the skin of her arms was visible. Somehow, that by itself was erotic to him. Every cream inch was always covered, only a tantalizing glimpse of bare flesh between the top of her gloves and the edge of her sleeves whenever she moved. The sight of her removing those gloves, any gloves, was enough to make him hard these days. Which was an issue in public, but not at the moment.

She had a routine. It made sense, given how much she needed to cover up. He tried to watch it from beginning to end, even though he knew he shouldn’t. But something kept drawing him back. He almost thought she was doing it on purpose, the way he’d see her eyes roam a room and rest on him before wishing everyone goodnight. He always knew what came next.

After she opened her curtains to the setting sun, the gloves always came off first. Then she squirted some lotion into her hand from a bottle resting on a table barely visible through the window. She rubbed each portion up and down her arms and into her hands, taking special care with every long, slim finger and the delicate skin of her wrists. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, long hair spilling down her back, as if she savored the feel of her own flesh in the remaining warmth of the sun and the heat created by friction.

Once her arms were sufficiently moisturized, she always peeled off her blouse. That day, she wore a silky green piece that skimmed her hips at the bottom. His breath caught as she shimmied it up her stomach, over the swell of her breasts, and finally up and over her head, wiggling a little as she went. He loosened the zipper of his jeans to release some of the pressure but didn’t pull himself out. Not yet. Part of the pleasure was in the anticipation.

The slathering of lotion along slim shoulders and the top swell of breasts almost distracted him completely from the black scrap of lace that was her excuse for a bra. She smeared her stomach next, and he could only imagine what it felt like, the cool cream warming against her skin, gliding over flesh he knew would be butter soft over toned abs. The honeysuckle scent that usually clouded his senses when they passed in the halls, mixing so close with the rich amber of her personal aroma. He drew in a deep breath, but even his nose wasn’t quite keen enough to catch the fragrance at this distance. He let his eyes make up for the lack.

Her pearlescent skin glowed in the fading light, putting the black of her bra and dark brown of her hair into high contrast. He was able to appreciate the bits of lace more as her hands moved over the skin covering her sides and lower back, even as he imagined the sweet dip towards her backside. Her fingers stroked up toward the clasp of her bra, causing her back to arch and her breasts to strain forward against the small lace shells that struggled to contain them. Unconsciously, he licked his lips at the sight. Now he did pull out his cock, as well as the small tube of lotion he kept in his back pocket for this.

Those questing fingers of hers finally found the clasp of her bra and unsnapped it in one quick motion. She slid first one strap, then the other, off her shoulders. It almost seemed like she held the cups over her nipples, one in each hand, for several seconds until she finally let the frothy pieces flutter to the floor at her feet, exposing her sweet breasts to his eager eyes. She squeezed more lotion into her hands and began rubbing it onto her shoulders again, this time concentrating on her collarbone. He performed a similar ritual, pressing the right amount of lotion into his palm and then gripping his cock with the same rhythm she started, long slow strokes instead of languid circles.

Her fingers trailed down the dip of her sternum before separating to cup her breasts along the bottom curve, each puffy pink nipple jutting out proudly. At this point, she almost seemed to forget her purpose, lost in the only touch she could know against that deadly skin. He loved watching her thumbs flick over those nipples, bringing them to pointed buds he craved to get his mouth on. Watching her curl her fingers up to join those thumbs, the way she squeezed and pinched as he wanted to, brought a growl to his throat and caused his tempo to increase slightly even though, as always, he wanted this to last as long as possible.

Finally, she released her nipples, with a sigh more visible than audible even to him, and continued the process of rubbing in her lotion. He wanted to growl again, this time in frustration, when first one arm, then the other, crossed in front of those delicious breasts so that she could reach her shoulder blades. He did moan in appreciation when she lifted an arm to reach her upper back, causing her breast to lift high and proud into the air, and again when she repeated the action on the other side.

Next came his second favorite part. As if suddenly shy in front of the open window, she turned her back to the outside world. Her hands worked n front of her, long enough for him to know she unbuttoned and unzipped the dark jeans that clung to her like a second skin--jeans he’d come to admire over the years but never so much as this summer. Then her thumbs hooked over the edge of her waistband on either side of her hips, and with graceful movements she pushed the denim down, inch by agonizingly slow inch. He wasn’t surprised it took so long, given how tight they were, and he sure wasn’t complaining as his strokes increased in pace and his breathing started to pick up speed into a pant.

As she pushed her jeans down over her thighs and knees, her rounded ass thrust up in the air, a wisp of black lace between those cheeks. He moaned again as each firm mound jiggled a little while she pulled her feet out of the confining denim, somehow managing to keep her ass in the air the whole time. She straightened up, squirted more lotion into her palms, and then rubbed her hands together before smoothing the cream over the lush flesh of her ass down to her muscled thighs, all without turning back to face outside. As she bent down once more, this time to pay attention to her knees and lower legs with even strokes, a trick of the last bit of fading light made him think dark, sultry eyes met his with a knowing gleam.

He let that fantasy play out along with the reality as he always did, his own strokes faster and harder when she stood back up and hooked her thumbs under the thin elastic holding up that lacey black thong. As she bent a final time to slide it off and spread her legs a fraction wider, he was rewarded with the sweet, yet too brief, sight of glistening pussy lips surrounded by neatly trimmed dark hair. That sent him over the edge, and he slid off the bench onto his knees, his free hand catching his weight in time to shoot ropes of thick cum onto the packed dirt floor of the gazebo, letting loose a sound between a growl and a howl without caring who might hear, although he knew no one would at this time of the evening. He knew all of their routines by now.

He took a deep breath of the warm, damp night air before looking up in time to see her pick up something long from the same table and move into the shadows of her room where he could no longer see. His greedy eyes drank in every bit of exposed skin while he could until she was completely out of sight. Then he sighed, pulled the waiting handkerchief out of his front pocket, and set to cleaning himself up before tucking his still-erect clock back into his jeans and zipping up despite the discomfort. He wiped off his hand with the clean side of the piece of cloth and then balled it up to shove the incriminating evidence back into his pocket. With one last glance toward her window, he rose and continued on with his patrol, hoping the walk would help suppress some of the aching need still inside him, a need he couldn’t quite put a name to.